Please, Tell Me
by JamesTheGreater
Summary: Ridgeway's school counselor has the toughest job. Follow Dr. McLandry as she attempts to describe the indescribable.
1. Sam

**IDOI**

**The idea for this story was inspired by Mistress of Craziness's iWouldn't Ask Anna That. I thought about the word "advice" and this story was formed. This is my attempt at humor/angst. (Not gonna be very angsty though.)**

* * *

A counselor is a vital part of any school system. And such a person must be responsible, for the sanity of the students and, to a lesser extent, the teachers rests in their hands. Now this job cannot go to just any degree wielding do-gooder. No, a school counselor must have, in addition to their Psy.D, years of training in psychoanalysis and therapy. They must have experience in dealing with people. And not just regular people, but people with problems. They must be able to accurately find solutions to some of life's toughest questions. Usually, these counselors go into their jobs adequately prepared due to all the practice. Schools are easy. Teenagers might seem unpredictable, but to the trained eye, they all have a built in code. A system that makes them tick. And this system is easy to, for a lack of a better word, hack. That is until the great leaders of Seattle built a school. A school called Ridgeway that would prove quite a tough egg to crack.

* * *

Dr. Casey McLandry straightened the yellow #2 pencils on her desk into neat, organized rows. She never used pens. Pens were too leaky, too smeary, and too permanent. So she used pencils. Dr. McLandry opened her black briefcase and took out a legal pad labeled "Samantha Puckett- 11th grade." She placed the pad on her desk, making sure it was parallel to the pencils. One can never be too organized. Many have laughed at her and some have even gone as far to say she had OCD. But after 10 years of counseling, she knew that organization of the body led to organization of the mind.

It was through this reputation as the most organized counselor in Washington that she had obtained this job. A desperate sounding Principal Theodore Franklin had called her, mentioning her reputation, and asking her to contact him ASAP. She quickly found out that Ridgeway also had a reputation. A reputation of being a . . . different sort of school. She had heard of it around the psycho-circle and it was rumored that the previous counselor was currently residing in a padded cell at the Seattle Psychological Institute. But nevertheless, Dr. McLandry was unfazed as she dialed the number and requested a meeting with Principal Franklin.

She glanced at the clock above the door. It had been fifteen minutes since the last class ended and her appointment with "Samantha Puckett" was scheduled for Monday, immediately after school. She sighed. This was not how she wanted to start her first assignment. Punctuality was a big part of organization and it seemed that "Samantha Puckett" had no respect for plans made ahead of time. But that was expected. She flipped open the legal pad. The staff and faculty had written up a document titled "Important Things to Know About Samantha Puckett". At the top of the list: "Rarely shows up on time." Check.

The door burst open and in strolled a small, blonde headed girl. The girl sat down in the provided seat and dropped her feet on the desk, disturbing the carefully arranged pencils. She then proceeded to glare at Dr. McLandry with what many would describe as blue laser beams.

Dr. McLandry cleared her throat. "Are you Samantha Puckett?"

The girl's lasers intensified. She answered with a blunt, "No."

"Then why are you—"

"I'm **Sam** Puckett. Call me Samantha again and you'll wake up in the middle of an intersection."

"Ok, _Sam_, please remove your feet from my desk."

Sam, staying true to #2 on the list ("No Respect for Authority"), didn't move an inch.

"I'm going to say this one more time, Sam. Remove your feet from my desk or else I will give you detention."

Sam snorted. "To bad. I'm used to it."

Dr. McLandry decided it was time to up the ante. "Did I mention it was . . . Summer detention?"

Sam glared a little bit longer and then grudgingly lowered her feet to the ground.

"Thank you," Dr. McLandry stopped to readjust her pencils, "Now, Sam, do you know why I'm here?"

"No."

"Well, I am here to help you. The teachers have been voicing complaints about you and your friends. They say there are . . . problems. So naturally, they called a psychologist."

Sam smirked and gestured toward the Psy.D framed on the wall. "So I guess they're just giving those things away nowadays, eh?"

Dr. McLandry looked down at the pad in her hands. "Ah, yes, the teachers did warn me about your brand of offensive humor." She checked off 'Abrasive Comedy'.

Sam jumped up, her chair scraping against the wood floor with a high-pitched screech. "What? The teachers told you things about me?"

"Hm. I'll also put a check next to 'Gets Angered Easily'."

By now Sam was seething. "What else did they tell you?" She leaned over the desk, attempting to catch a glimpse of the list.

"THEY TOLD YOU THAT I HAVE A NATURAL AFFINITY TOWARDS HAM?"

"Yes, but they failed to mention your talent in reading things upside down."

Sam looked incredulous. Her hands clenched into fists. "They give my information to a complete stranger and you're joking arou— what am I doing talking to you? **You're** the complete stranger!"

Dr. McLandry clasped her hands together on the desk. "Look, Sam, don't be mad at them. They gave me the information to help you."

Sam narrowed her eyes. "I don't need help. I'm outta here." She made her way to the door.

"Summer detention."

Sam darted back into her seat. "I'll be good."

"Great. I know we can come to be great friends."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah. Right."

Dr. McLandry smiled.

"Let's start with some basic introductions. My name is Casey McLandry. Married. Two children. I've been a psychologist for ten years. And I'm happy to say you are my first client at this school."

"Wow. That makes me feel special."

"Sam, if this is going to work, I need you to talk to me. Start with the basics like your name, family, maybe some friends."

Sam let out a derisive laugh. "I don't need to tell you anything. You have everything about me on that list."

Dr. McLandry shook her head. "I would like to hear about you from your own voice. If it makes you feel any better, I'll tear out the list."

She tore out the first page and filed it under 'Puckett, Sam' in the desk drawer. Straightening up, she looked expectantly at Sam.

Sam let out a breath through her nose. The hard look in her eyes softened a bit before she began.

"I'm Sam Puckett. I live with my mom. I have a sister but she's going to some school on the east coast. I don't know where my dad is. And my best friend is Carly Shay. And on Fridays we do a web show called iCarly."

The doctor finished writing down "web show Friday = iCarly" before remembering the video that Principal Theodore showed her earlier that day. "Ah, yes, iCarly. Quite a funny show in my opinion. Congratulations on your success."

A faint look of pride appeared on Sam's face. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now what about school?"

Sam's expression went blank. "What about it?"

"You know . . . grades, classes, favorite subjects, that kind of stuff."

Sam let out another deep breath. "I'm taking US History, Algebra II, Chemistry, Spanish II, English Literature, and . . . computer science."

"Computer science? Excuse me if I'm wrong but, I was under the impression, from what I saw on the list, that you were a fan of the culinary arts. Why didn't you take a cooking class?"

Sam growled, suddenly defensive. "I turned in my application late and it was the only elective left, alright?"

Dr. McLandry nodded, but she circled "computer science" on her pad. Sam didn't seem like the type to surrender her interests just because computer science was "the only one left". She continued with the interview.

"So what do you currently have in computer science?"

"C."

"History?"

"C."

"Math?"

"C."

"Chemistry?"

"C."

"Spanish?"

"C."

"Literature? Wait, let me guess . . . C?

Sam smiled. "Nope. B+."

"Good for you. Is Literature your favorite subject?"

"No, favorite subjects are for nerds."

"Of course. Anything else you'd like to tell me about school?"

Sam shook her head.

"Well, okay then. That wasn't too hard was it?"

Sam visibly relaxed and nodded.

"Now that I know you better and you're more comfortable talking to me, we need to get to the crux of the matter. The teachers are frustrated with your attitude. Personally, I see you as an engaging spirit but the school says different. Would you like to tell me why you've been acting out?"

Sam narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. "What do you mean by 'acting out'?"

Dr. McLandry stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet that had been pushed into the corner of the office. Making sure to block Sam's view, she dialed in the combination to the middle drawer and slid it open. She procured a yellow file thicker than most dictionaries, closed the drawer and walked back to the desk. Sam's eyes grew big as the doctor dropped the file on the desk with a resounding thud.

"Sam, this is your permanent record. As you may notice, it is many times the volume of a normal student's. It is of this immense size due to the trouble you have caused here in Ridgeway's halls for the past 3 years. This is what I mean by 'acting out.'"

"Oh."

Dr. McLandry opened the file and flipped through the papers. "Let us see what you have been up to. Hm, yes, graffiti'd cars, exploded toilets, and it says one time you even released a crate of chickens in the hallways. Oh, and of course, over a hundred detentions for a specific repeat offense: sending one Fredward Benson to the nurse's office. Please, tell me, Sam, tell me why you had to do these things."

Sam shrugged before giving the all too simple answer of, "I dunno. Because I could, I guess."

"Because you could. Let me get this straight. You do things . . . because you can?"

"Well, yeah."

"Interesting. Did you say your sister is going to school on the east coast?"

"Yeah, but what does—"

"Why aren't you there with her?"

Sam grabbed a pencil off the desk and twirled it through her fingers. "Because she got a scholarship. I didn't have the grades."

"Interesting. And you said you had straight C's?"

"And a B+."

"Interesting. Does your mother allow you to . . . do as you wish?"

"Ever since my dad left, she hasn't cared what I did. As long as I didn't kill anyone. That's where she drew the line."

"Interesting. I—"

"Stop that."

Dr. McLandry looked up to find Sam trying to bend the pencil as far as she could. "Stop what?"

Sam glanced up from her task. "You keep saying 'interesting'. Stop it. We're in a school. Nothing's that interesting. Ever."

Dr. McLandry rolled her eyes and continued. "As I was saying before your interruption, I have found the problem."

"What's the diagnosis, Doc?"

"My diagnosis is that you are too afraid of being told that you can't do anything, so you go out of your way to show everyone you can do everything. Hence, practical jokes, impossibly painful wedgies, and bruised Fredwards."

_Snap_. The pencil in Sam's hands broke in two. A deadly silence fell over the room. She lowered the pencil halves into her lap. And all the while, Dr. McLandry was looking, waiting, for a reaction.

Sam's eyes started to water and Dr. McLandry expected a breakthrough. She leaned forward.

And Sam burst into a loud, raucous laughter. The doctor looked affronted.

"What's so funny?"

Sam answered still clutching her sides. "I-I give you," she glanced at the clock, "th-thirty four minutes and **that's** the b-best you can come up with?"

Dr. McLandry was surprised. No one had questioned her diagnosis before. And yet here, a client she was supposed to be fixing was hiccupping with laughter. Apparently, she had been played like a harmonica at the Missouri Blues and Jazz Festival.

"You were acting?"

"Yeppers."

"But, Sam, it doesn't make sense. Everything you said . . . it all works out. Your sister got good grades. You didn't. Your mom didn't let you do anything until your father left. I thought you wanted to prove to people that you're strong enough to do whatever you wanted."

Sam's laughter died to snickers. "Wrong, doctor. People are very aware that I can do whatever I want. I don't have to prove anything. And those grades that my sister got? You think I'm bitter over not being able to get good grades? I could care less about school. I'm only going because Carly and Freddie promised me a butt load of ham if I stick it out and end senior year with at least average grades. Your diagnosis is the same as Ms. Murdock's choice in make-up: ludicrous."

Dr. McLandry mulled these thoughts over. She was never wrong about people. She was sure Sam had some type of problem. Maybe there was something else. She thought about teenagers and how they worked. She remembered all the bullying cases she had handled. A-HA!

"I may have been wrong on my first try, but now I think I have you pinned down, Sam Puckett."

Sam smirked. "Go for it, quack."

"I think you commit these irresponsible actions because all you're looking for is some—"

"—attention?"

The psychologist was left speechless. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. Sam's smirk grew bigger.

"Your predecessor tried to nail me with that one. But I set her straight. You might have heard of her. Dr. Trenton? She's currently residing in padded confinement cell number 13-C. I'm sorry, but the attention I get is just a perk. You want to know the real reason why I do the things I do?"

Dr. McLandry nodded slowly.

Sam spoke with all seriousness. "I do it . . . because it's fun."

"That's-that's it? It's fun?"

Sam yawned and reclined in the chair. "Of course it is. You intellectuals and your fancy shmancy doctorates think everything is complex. You think everything has a deeper meaning. Well, it doesn't. Fun is fun and that's all it can be."

Right now, Dr. McLandry was furiously searching through all her documents. She could not let this blonde demon be the death of her reputation. But there was nothing. No past breakthroughs. No psychological profiles. No nothing. All there were, were just warnings: Sam Puckett was dangerous. But this was impossible. Everything they taught at psychology school said all actions have a meaning. All of them. No. There must be something. Something she had over looked. In the corner of her mind, she could still hear Sam gloating.

"For supposed psychologists, you guys sure are crazy about this stuff. I mean, really? Does everything have to have something behind it? Jeez, why can't you just accept the fact that I'm Sam Puckett. There's nothing more, nothing less. It just is."

Dr. McLandry gasped. The idea came to her in a flash of oh so inspirational inspiration. The clouds above opened up and sunlight streamed through. The chorus to Handel's Messiah poured out of nowhere. She had figured out Sam Puckett. She replaced all the papers that had been strewn about the desk.

"Sam, do you . . . listen to your emotions?"

Predictably, Sam tensed up. Dr. McLandry grinned before remembering that this was a client. And her client needed help.

"Sam?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam, are you—are you afraid? Of your emotions?"

Sam wordlessly looked down at her hands. And suddenly, to Dr. McLandry, Sam Puckett seemed small again.

"That's it, isn't it?" But when the question came out, it sounded more like a statement.

"That's the reason you do everything for fun. It's because fun is easy and simple. Fun is fun. And emotions are complicated."

Another revelation became clear.

"That's the reason, during our appointment, you barely mentioned Freddie, isn't it."

Sam shook her head. Dr. McLandry sighed.

"I saw some of your iCarly shows. From what I saw, you and Freddie seem to be as good friends as you and Carly. And yet, today, you only mentioned Carly as your best friend. You didn't want to bring emotions into the conversation. Because you were afraid that I was going to find out. Samantha, look at me."

Sam slowly lifted her head.

"It's all right. I'm here for you, Sam. We can work through this together. Step-by-step."

Sam looked at the clock. The doctor followed her gazed. 5:05.

Sam stood up and spoke in a quiet voice. "I think we're done here, Dr. McLandry."

She took five long steps to the door and wrenched it open.

"Sam."

She froze.

"You can't ignore your emotions, Sam. If you ignore your emotions, you ignore yourself."

The door shut with a click.

Dr. McLandry sighed. They had only talked for fifty-five minutes but she felt as though it had been an eternity. And it was only her first day. She glanced at her schedule for tomorrow. In small black letters it said: Freddie Benson-4:00.

She opened her desk drawer and took out the list she had stowed away when they first started. She moved down the list adding checks to all of them. She got to the end. #9: Likes to play with Psychologists. She chuckled. That was why Sam made her put away the list. She wasn't really mad that the teachers gave her information to a stranger. Sam just didn't want Dr. McLandry to know about her little mind game.

She checked it off and moved on to the last thing on the list. It was written in Principal Franklin's handwriting.

#10: Completely invincible.

Dr. McLandry smiled sadly as she crossed it out.

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**I'm no psychologist so have no idea what the counesling protocol is. I hope I made it believable.**

**BTW, how was iSaved Your Life? I thought it was enjoyable. Spam paintball was awesome. Creddie was alright. Just thought it was too much kissing. Wish they held hands or something. And I don't want to be "that guy" but did anyone else think it was hot when Bunny Carly patted down Sam? :)**

** To review or not to review. That is the question. (Hint: choose the first one.)**


	2. Freddie

**I Don't Own iCarly**

**Sorry, this chapter was long overdue. **

**A big thanks to luna moody for giving me suggestions and advice on how to continue. And thanks to her, this story will be longer as I was reminded that healing is a process and not an event.**

* * *

Dr. McLandry stood at the window, the blinds open and the late afternoon sun drawing horizontal stripes across her lined face. Her currently alert green eyes sparkled as they caught the light. Her attention was trained on the parking lot right outside her office. Three teens were lounging on a car hood, talking. Every now and then, a shout of laughter would escape from the group and drift into the atmosphere as the brief moment of lighthearted fun turned into a memory

The doctor sighed. The teens were right in enjoying all the time they had with their friends. Soon, midterms would roll around; then finals and, for the senior year, graduation. The adult life was approaching faster than any of the kids anticipated. There would be taxes and jobs and other responsibilities. It was right to enjoy freedom while it lasted. Dr. McLandry knew all too well that her childhood had been wasted on endless hours of studying and always striving to get ahead. She was so focused on her dreams of attending top notch learning institutions that she forgot to appreciate her childish liberties. But when she found herself as a freshman in Harvard, she looked back. And saw nothing. So she changed her major from law to psychology in order to help others avoid the stressful lifestyle she had chosen. And after gaining a doctorate, she travelled around the country teaching and counseling until she decided to return to her home state of Washington. And here she—

A knock interrupted her thoughts. She turned from the window and checked the clock.

_Exactly 4:00. Nicely done, Freddie Benson._

"Come in," she called.

A neatly dressed young man entered. He had short, ruffled (but not **too** ruffled), brown hair and towered over her at about six feet in height. His deep hazel eyes surveyed the room with a cautious air until they finally settled on her.

He cleared his throat. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Freddie Benson. They told me I had an appointment with you."

She smiled.

"Yes, nice to meet you Freddie," she gestured toward the chair in front of her desk, "Please, have a seat."

He nodded, walked to the chair, and took a seat. Dr. McLandry took one last glance toward the students in the parking lot before she left her post by the window. She sat down in her black leather armchair and clasped her hands on the desk.

"Well—"

"My mother told me to make these for you." Freddie lifted up a plastic container filled with what looked like oatmeal raisin cookies. "She said to always bring doctors gifts, preferably healthy cookies."

She raised her eyebrows and took the container. "Thank you, Freddie. But how did you know I was a doctor?"

"My friend Sam said that I had an appointment with a psychologist. She saw my name on your schedule."

Dr. McLandry chuckled. "She **does** have a knack for reading upside down."

Freddie continued. "Speaking of Sam, did you say something to her yesterday? Because that's all she said to me for the last 24 hours. After that, all she did was either nod or shake her head."

She frowned. Inside she said, "_Sam, Sam, Sam. . . Why?"_ On the outside, she preserved doctor patient confidentiality and replied, "Nothing I can recall."

He scrutinized her for a couple seconds for accepting her response and nodding.

"So what can I do for you, doctor?"

She smiled. Freddie was such a pleasant boy. "Well, first off, I'll read from this list of things the teachers told me about you and you can tell me if what they said was right or not. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

Dr. McLandry retrieved her legal pad and flipped to the page titled "Important Things to Know About Freddie Benson."

"Number one: you have an aptitude for technology."

Freddie nodded. Check.

"Number two: your best friends are Sam Puckett and Carly Shay.

He nodded again. Check.

"Number three: you have an overbearing mother that quite often visits the school unannounced."

He nodded, but this time more vigorously. She placed a big check next to that one.

"Number four: besides your mother, you don't have any immediate family."

He looked down and nodded slowly. Check with a small tear next to it.

"Number five: you are madly in love with Carly Shay."

Freddie hesitated. Then he shook his head and muttered, "Not anymore."

Dr. McLandry crossed out number five and put a question mark next to it. She looked back up at Freddie.

"Well, that's all that the teachers have told me. You seem to keep to yourself more than . . . others, so the staff and faculty know less about you. However, my job as a psychologist entails getting to know my students. So do you mind if I ask you about yourself?"

"No, not at all."

"Okay then, what classes do you take?"

"I have AP Chemistry, AP US History, Calculus, Spanish II, English Literature, and computer science."

"Impressive list, Freddie."

"Thanks."

"Do you enjoy these classes?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's your favorite subject?"

"Computer science."

Dr. McLandry wrote "nerd" and circled it twice.

"What is your grade in this class?"

"B," Freddie replied, ashamed.

"B? I thought you had a gift with electronics?"

"I only have a B because of," he paused, "distractions."

She smiled. "Of course. So what do you have in all your other classes?"

Freddie grinned proudly. "A's. All A's."

"Good for you. Where do you want to go for college?"

"I was going to go to U-Dub and maybe do something with technology, but my mom wants me to go to John Hopkins Medical. She said if I become a doctor, we can work at the same hospital and we can be called Team Benson." Then he added, "Which is why I **really** want to go to U-Dub."

_His mom seems to be a dominating factor in his life. Interesting._

"Let me ask you this, Freddie, do you have a car?"

He sighed. "Yeah, but my mom only lets me have the keys so I can drive Sam, Carly, and myself to school."

"Yes, yes, of course," Dr. McLandry whispered. She circled mom and underlined it twice.

"What?"

She glanced up to see Freddie with a confused look on his face.

"Did you say something?"

"No. So Freddie, please, tell me about your friends."

Freddie gave a big groan and slouched in his chair.

"Do I have to?"

The doctor was surprised at his sudden change in mood. So far he had been so composed and polite. He even sat completely upright with perfect posture. So she wondered what was it about his friends that made him loose his cool. "Why? Is there something wrong?"

"No, it's just that sometimes my friends are just so . . . so . . . ARGH!" Freddie gave groan, this time frustrated.

She looked at him skeptically. "They're . . . ARGH?"

"Yeah, ARGH!"

"Well then, enlighten me. Explain while they're so . . . ARGH!"

Freddie took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to attempt to explain the dysfunctional anomaly that was their friendship.

"So first, there's Carly. She's nice, sweet, smart, pretty, and every other positive adjectives you can say about someone. The problem is that she knows she's all that stuff. And she uses it to her advantage. Because on the inside, Carly's extremely manipulative. Almost as much as my mother. She knows that I would do anything for her because there's no reason not to. Like I said, she's nice, sweet, smart, and pretty, so it's almost as if I'm . . . obligated to do stuff for her. What would be my excuse? Is she mean to me? No. Does she steal my stuff? No. Does she beat me up? No. So all Carly has to do is look at me and say 'please, for me' and BAM, I'm either sitting outside Build-a-Bra or in the middle of a lame vampire movie. I'm telling you, she's got it down to a system."

Dr. McLandry finished scribbling everything down before noticing something strange.

"Shouldn't you enjoy doing these things? These are almost like boyfriend chores. I know you said you're over her, but, from how you described her, she's still seems like quite a catch."

He shook his head. "But the problem is I **know** she's never going to actually like me. She likes bad boys. She hangs out with me because I'm nice to be around, but I'm **not **boyfriend material to her. I'm just a friend. It was fun to do that stuff with her in the beginning, but after I moved on it became boring."

"That is understandable. So what about Sam?"

Freddie shot out of his seat at the mention of the blonde girl.

"Sam? She's the biggest ARGH of them all. I mean, she's smart and beautiful, that's undeniable, but she's also vicious, violent, lazy, loud, and hungry. She doesn't respect me or my property. Like there was this one time I had to buy something for my mom from the grocery store. I told Sam to wait in the car and she said yes. So I leave and come back to find that she had filled my car with hundreds of tiny troll dolls that she bought from some guy on the street. The worst part is she used MY money. No respect. And not to mention, she's completely unpredictable. One minute we're hanging out and watching _Girly Cow_, the next minute I'm on the ground with my arm behind my back because I accidently brushed her hand." He stood up and started to pace back and forth. "I just don't—I can't—she—ARGH! You see what happens?!"

"Freddie?"

He ignored her and kept on pacing back and forth, ranting in gibberish.

"Freddie?"

""

"FREDDIE!"

He jumped.

"Freddie, please sit down."

Freddie obliged and took his seat.

"Do you want me to solve your problems?"

He nodded, but gave her skeptical look. D. McLandry smiled reassuringly.

"Now. I'm going to prescribe you with these things I like to call 'deep breaths', alright?"

"Deep breaths?"

"Yes. Whenever any of your friends or your mom causes you to stress out, take 5 deep breaths. If you still feel the anxiety, take another 5 deep breaths. Deep breaths, okay? In and out. In and out."

"It's that easy?"

"It's that easy."

Freddie slowly stood up. "O-okay then. Thank you, doctor."

"You're welcome. Come back this same time next week to tell me how you're doing, alright?"

He nodded, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and exited through the door, muttering under his breath.

"Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths."

* * *

**Next up: Carlotta**

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